


Quiet

by quartetship



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2465633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jean and Marco were no strangers to noise, and neither were their neighbors..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a birthday gift for tumblr/twitter user emeryylee! (Idk your AO3 handle dear, I'm so sorry!)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! :)
> 
> \--

Thumping, banging, heavy footfall and sliding, scraping, creaking furniture and floors - these were the things that so often got them in trouble, living in apartment 104.

Jean and Marco were no strangers to noise, and neither were their neighbors. From the day they'd moved in, the crotchety old man downstairs and the uptight elderly woman next door had monitored their every move, every sound. And without fail, whenever things got too noisy in their little one bedroom unit, they were treated to the sound of banging against the walls or floors. It was almost a daily ritual, considering how often the two of them forgot to keep it down. Sometimes they even made a game of predicting which neighbor would angrily knock first, and for what reason.

Some of the pounding at the walls didn't make much sense. One morning at breakfast, Marco was cheerfully tapping his foot while waiting on Jean to finish cooking. Before they could even sit down to eat, the man below them was rapping at his ceiling - their floor - in warning to quiet down. Marco traded a glance with Jean and didn't even bother stopping his boyfriend from stomping loudly in response, too caught up in laughing at the entire situation. It was impossible to be quiet enough to keep their neighbors happy.

But sometimes, they truly earned their reprimand. On nights when Marco would roll over into Jean's arms at three in the morning, half asleep and barely cognizant of how incredibly _loud_ he could be when Jean's hands were everywhere at once. On mornings when they had just enough time before work to share a shower, hands grabbing desperately at the bars and slamming against slippery walls. On weekend days when the sun was up but they were still in bed, the cheap brass headboard knocking against the wall over and over until their cries of each other's names drowned out the sound. Those were the days that they saw the pounding at the walls coming from a mile away, and received it like a reward.

But this was not one of those days.

It had started like many before it, with nearly suffocating cuddles and the lazy pace of a Saturday morning. Jean had awoken with a hangover and been crabbier than usual, but true to form, Marco had soothed him _and_ his splitting headache, and then Jean was on his feet and their day went on. Until the smallest remark derailed an otherwise placid mood.

"Do you have to smother me so damned much?"

It was meant to be a joke, a jab from a still-cranky Jean as he unwrapped Marco's arms from his shoulders long enough to pull his shoes on. But when those arms didn't return, he realized they were crossed over Marco's chest, and Marco was eyeing him hard.

"What, babe?" Jean sighed, turning to reach for him. Marco pulled away further.

"Smother you? Is that seriously what you think?"

Jean shook his head. "Marco it was a joke. God, you're too sensitive." He stood and turned to kneel in front of where Marco sat, but was met with more tense staring.

"I just think that's a pretty asinine thing to say to someone who just wasted their whole morning taking care of your hangover." He twisted his mouth the way he did when he was trying not to raise his voice, and - despite every logical thought in his mind urging him not to make anything more of the argument - something about that royally pissed Jean off.

"Wasted your morning?" he snapped, pushing off of Marco's knees roughly and standing again, striding backward. "Good to know you think I'm a waste of time."

"I didn't say that" Marco said sharply. Jean huffed.

"What did you say, then? You literally said that you wasted your morning on me."

"On taking care of your--"

"Exactly!" Jean cut in. "Sorry I wasn't aware that taking care of your boyfriend was a waste of your precious time. God, how many times have I put up with _you_ being sick and--"

"Put up with?! I'd say I've _put up with_ a lot more than taking care of you when you're sick, Jean." Marco's voice was growing louder, but it had a wavering edge that betrayed how upset he really was. "Besides, this was different. You did this to yourself."

Jean scowled. "Since when does that bother you?"

"Probably since you told me to stop smothering you, you ungrateful ass." It wasn't the kind of thing Marco usually said, and as soon as it was out of his mouth he winced. Jean wanted to ask if he meant it, but he knew it wouldn't have managed to bubble out of Marco's otherwise sweet mouth if it wasn't intentional, and entirely warranted. Still, he turned to face him with anger in his eyes, because he'd never been one to back down from a heinously ill-advised fight.

"Ungrateful ass?" he repeated, and Marco nodded stubbornly. "Tch. Sorry you have to put up with so much, Mr. Perfect. Maybe I should relieve you of your burden."

"That's stupid!" Marco shouted, and the sound was all the more unfamiliar in the quiet of their small apartment. "What're you even saying?"

"Saying I'm out, if I'm such a burden. Such an ass." Jean grabbed a jacket from the coat rack and plucked his keys from the hook beside the door. He ignored Marco's confused expression and backed toward the exit. He knew Marco would ask where he was going, what he was going to do - so he turned his back and left before there was time to talk. Behind him as he walked down the stairs, the old woman who lived across the hall poked her head out the door and shushed him, and just as he snapped at her to _shut the hell up_ , he could hear Marco stomp at the floor of their apartment, probably shouting the same thing to the angry old man beneath. Any other day it would've been funny. Starting his car and heading _who knows where_ , Jean didn't think there was anything amusing about it.

At least alone, he could be as loud as he wanted to be.

\--

He didn't last twenty-four hours.

After an evening spent ordering half the menu at a hole in the wall pizza joint (and eating almost none of it) he'd camped out in his car, parked in the dark lot of the city grocery store. He figured he'd duck inside the next morning to buy himself breakfast, and gather his thoughts on what to do from there. When he actually woke up - from the most fitful sleep of his entire life - he was thinking less about eating and more about how miserable it was greeting the morning alone. He drove around aimlessly until the sun was high and his gas was low, and spent the last of the money in his wallet on more food that he barely touched. By the time the wait staff mustered the courage to let him know that they would be closing soon, Jean was mentally back home, begging Marco to forgive him so he wouldn't have to sleep alone again. Thinking of warm hands rubbing at his neck and swirling soothing patterns through his hair made his chest tighten; he'd never felt less deserving of Marco's attention and affection.

Marco was right, he was an ungrateful ass.

He headed back to their apartment and didn't bother straightening himself up when he crawled out of his car. Maybe if Marco saw what a sad sack he was on his own, he'd feel bad and forgive him. Or at least let him back inside.

He tried to be quiet up the stairs, but it was hard when they creaked and groaned beneath his feet with every step. By the time he reached the landing in front of their door, he could hear Marco behind it, probably looking through the peephole to see who he was. To his surprise, Marco opened the door without hesitation.

"Hey" Jean breathed. Marco just stared at him, unmoved. He swallowed and started mumbling through an apology.

"I, uh... I'm sorry. I probably should've just called so you didn't feel like you had to - not that I don't want you to, but only if - look, I really didn't mean what I said yesterday, and I..." He trailed off and dragged a hand down his face, sighing heavily behind it. After a moment he collected himself, and dropped his hands back into his pockets, then bit the bullet and gritted out his point. "I'm sorry for being an ass, and making you feel burdened. You're really good to me, and I don't deserve you, but I love you, and I really fucking _need_ you. Can... I come back in and talk?"

Marco didn't move at first, still just looking at him. But before Jean could tack anything else onto his apology, Marco seized him by the collar of the coat and pulled him through the doorway, twisting arms and legs around him until they both fell to the floor with a thump. He looked up at Jean - a little breathless from the impact - and laughed.

"You're not a burden" he said softly, nudging his nose against Jean's and pulling him down for a kiss, "even when you're hungover." He wrapped his arms around Jean's shoulders and rubbed familiar circles there, until Jean melted into him and laughed against his lips. Marco grinned, trailing kisses up his jaw until he was nipping at Jean's ear as he breathed words across it. "And even if you were, you'd be one that I'd be glad to have."

"So I'm an ass, but you'll keep me?" Jean smirked, leaning down to press kisses to the hollow of his neck. Marco laughed out loud, and the sound vibrated under Jean's lips.

"Basically."

He went back to the business of kissing Jean, working him out of his coat and only pausing to kick the door closed and roll them so that he was looking down at Jean, arms on either side of his shoulders. Just as Jean reached between them to unbutton shirts and pants and tear at whatever else was in their way, there was a sharp knocking sound at the floor below them, and a single, muffled shout.

_"Quiet!"_

They laughed and made bets on how many more knocks they'd receive before they finally slept that night.


End file.
